


Blue Band with a Star

by standbygo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cuckolding, Dildos, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Gangbang, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Club, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 05:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/standbygo/pseuds/standbygo
Summary: "Have you ever been to a sex club?"Sherlock froze. “John, I told you, I don’t want anyone but you.”“We’re not going anywhere, Sherlock. And no one is coming in here. It’s just us, I promise you. And if you don’t like anything I’m doing, you just say so and I’ll stop.”John looked up at Sherlock, one eyebrow cocked, and suddenly Sherlock knew, he understood exactly what John had in mind.“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh. Okay then.”John and Sherlock explore a sexual fantasy together, involving some imagination and a LOT of toys.





	Blue Band with a Star

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Chryse's "What Did You Think About" series.
> 
> Many thanks to my betas, ShamelessMash and MissDavisWrites, and the rest of the Fan Fiction Writers Retreat gang for their encouragement. This smut's for you.
> 
> Please do not redistribute my fanfiction on other archives or sites without my express permission. Thank you.

“John – John –  _ John _ !”

Sherlock’s voice broke off in a strangled cry as every muscle tensed and shuddered. He could distantly hear John shouting as well, feel John’s cock pulsing inside him.

When he came back to himself he was clutching John to him, breathing raggedly. John had collapsed on top of him and was puffing humid air onto Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock kissed John everywhere he could reach: his hair, his temple, his sweat-damp shoulder. After a time, John’s breath evened out, and he pushed himself up enough to kiss Sherlock passionately, humming into his mouth.

When they had calmed, John slid to the side off Sherlock’s body, but still held him close, combing his hand through Sherlock’s hair. “You are absolutely amazing, and I love you,” John said.

“I love you,” Sherlock replied, stark and simple and heartfelt.

If someone had told Sherlock even a year ago that he would be here, saying those words to John Watson, he would have scoffed and eviscerated the speaker with biting sarcasm.  But six months ago, one moment of vulnerability had led to both of them speaking a truth they had each denied to themselves, which in turn had led to physical contact, which in turn had led to the most wonderful learning curve Sherlock had ever gone through.

Sex was  _ amazing _ . John had been nervous but patient, and Sherlock had felt tremendously self-conscious at first, but had gradually allowed his instincts to surface. By degrees, sex for them had transformed from awkward to mind-blowing.

After some time of holding each other, John sighed. “I need a flannel, some water, and the loo, not necessarily in that order. You need to go first?”

Sherlock held John a bit tighter. “Not yet, stay a moment more.”

“We’re getting sticky.” John leaned back a fraction, and Sherlock felt the thick slide of cooling semen on their bellies. He winced.

“Echh. All right. You get water, I’ll get the flannel.”

“Right. Up and out.”

They rolled out of bed. Sherlock noted the damp spot in the bed and briefly considered changing the sheets, but instead decided to bring a towel from the bathroom to lay down on it.

“Hey,” John said from the bedroom doorway.

Sherlock looked up and smiled. John was beautiful in the dim light of the room; compact and lean and graceful.

“That was fantastic,” John said. “You’re fantastic.”

“As are you,” Sherlock said. “You’re the best sex I’ve ever had.” He winked, and ducked into the loo.

He was laying the towel on the bed when John returned, and received the glass of water with a grateful-sounding hum. John went to the loo, but when he returned he was looking thoughtful and solemn. Sherlock’s brain was back online enough to notice.

“What are you thinking?” Sherlock said.

John climbed into bed and gazed at Sherlock for a long moment before answering. “I was thinking about what you said.”

“What, when I asked you to put your fingers-”

“No, just now. Best sex you ever had.”

“Well, it’s true. You  _ are  _ the best sex I’ve ever had,” Sherlock said.

“I’m the  _ only _ sex you’ve ever had.”

Sherlock frowned. “Yes, obviously.” He felt a roll of nervousness in his belly. “Am I – is it not-”

“No no no,” John said, kissing Sherlock all over his face. “Nononono. Best sex I’ve ever had too, honestly.”

“Really?”

John looked into his eyes, deeply, and Sherlock could see the truth there. “Yes, my love. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, and that makes the sex extraordinary.”

“Good.” Sherlock settled back, then looked over at John again. “But…?”

“Do you-” John licked his lips, “Do you ever wish that you’d ever – you know, fooled around more? Been with other people – other men, or-”

“Sown my wild oats?”

“As it were, yeah.”

“I see.” Sherlock turned onto his back, thinking. “You are concerned that my lack of previous experience will lead to my eventual desire to experiment sexually with others?”

“Well… yeah.”

There was a lifetime of insecurity in those two words, and Sherlock sought to reassure John with his hands and his words. He turned back to John and took him into his arms.

“Listen to me, John Watson. You are the only man I ever wanted to touch, and to touch me. That will not change, I swear it.”

John smiled, a bit wetly, and they kissed.

They were quiet for a while, but the question had provoked a line of thought that buzzed through Sherlock’s brain like a mosquito.

“Do  _ you _ wish I’d been with other men? Do you want me to… ohhhh.” Sherlock turned to face John. “It’s a fantasy of yours, isn’t it?”

“Of course not,” John snapped, but Sherlock saw the tiny flex of John’s cock. Interesting.

“A cuckold fantasy, watching me get passed around like a toy-”

“Sherlock,” John growled.

“You can’t deny it,” Sherlock said as he nodded towards John’s groin. Despite having come only half an hour earlier, John’s cock was thickening. Sherlock had to admit that John’s refractory period was remarkable for a man of his age.

John sighed. “All right,” he said. “Yes, I suppose. But it’s one of those things that I only think of late at night, or when you’re away, or… I don’t really want that though.”

“Nor I. I don’t want anyone but you to touch me.”

John softened, as he stroked Sherlock’s cheek and hair. Sherlock melted into the touch. “I know, love. I don’t want anyone else touching you either. But I think the idea intrigues you too.”

“Hmmm?”

John nodded, and Sherlock looked down to see his own cock plumping up.

“Interesting,” Sherlock said.

“Can’t let it go to waste,” John grinned, and slid down Sherlock’s body.

**

A week later, Sherlock returned from a case that had started out as a six but turned into a relatively interesting seven-point-five. John had been at the clinic and unable to come away, so Sherlock had kept a running commentary on the case via text message, with John’s advice and expertise helping even from afar. By the end of the day it was solved, and Sherlock returned to Baker Street, elated with the case and some ideas for a new area of research involving slow-acting poison in tattoo ink.

John was home when he returned, Sherlock could tell. The flat was a slightly different temperature and smell when John was home. Sure enough, John was in the kitchen, but moved quickly into the sitting room as Sherlock entered.

“Solved?”

“Of course,” Sherlock said, taking off his coat. John took it and hung it up.

“Hungry? Tea?”

John was slightly nervous, Sherlock saw. No, not nervous – excited, like he had a secret for Sherlock.

“No,” he said. “What…?”

“Come to the bedroom?” John said.

Sherlock couldn’t resist those words, especially those words coupled with John’s eyes gazing at him like that. He nodded with a small smile, and followed John down the hall.

The room was dim, lit only by a few candles and the streetlights. John closed the door carefully, then came to Sherlock in the middle of the room, putting his arms around him. They stood there for a moment, letting the day leak out of them and filling up with the presence of themselves, together. John leaned up and kissed Sherlock, softly, tenderly, then added passion by degrees as Sherlock responded.

After a long moment of kissing, John held Sherlock close, swaying slightly. Sherlock let himself sway with him, but was still madly curious about what John was planning – for he was clearly planning something.

“What is it, John?”

John’s hands played with Sherlock’s fringe. “I was wondering, have you ever been to a sex club?”

Sherlock froze. “John, I told you, I don’t want anyone but you.”

“We’re not going anywhere, Sherlock. And no one is coming in here. It’s just us, I promise you. And if you don’t like anything I’m doing, you just say so and I’ll stop.”

John looked up at Sherlock, one eyebrow cocked, and suddenly Sherlock knew, he understood exactly what John had in mind. He felt a hot flush pass through his body, sweeping up from his chest to his neck and face, and downward to his cock.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh. Okay then.”

John smiled, and gave Sherlock a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Okay. So. Have you ever been to a sex club?”

He was about to retort, ‘ _ When would I have been to a sex club _ ?’, but instead simply said, “No.”

“I went to one in Germany, when I was stationed there.”

“What did it look like? Inside?”

John started swaying gently again; Sherlock felt himself relaxing more, giving himself over to the rocking of their bodies, the sound of John’s voice. “Dark. Black walls, dark red furniture. Dim lights. Not oppressive, though, just – opulent. There was a bar, and lots of sofas scattered around. A small dance floor.”

“Beds?”

“In another room. We’ll get there, love.”

“Sorry.”

“S’okay. They give you wristbands at the door, with different colours to show what you’re after – a man, a woman, or…”

“What colour is mine?”

John whispered into his ear, “Blue. With a star.”

“Which means?”

“Blue means you can fuck anyone you want, but I need to be in sight or in the room.”

Sherlock felt heat pool in his belly and groin. “And the star?”

“Means you’re interested in fucking as many people as possible.”

“God, John.”  Sherlock was definitely getting hard. He would never have thought this idea would have excited him, but the evidence was there. He also knew that if he were actually there, at the sex club, it would not end well. But this… this had potential. “John. You’re a genius.”

“Thank you.” John kissed his neck, just below his ear, the place that always made Sherlock shiver.

“What happens when we arrive? Do we-?”

“No. We don’t take our clothes off right away. We check in, get a drink at the bar. People are mingling, chatting – very much like any other nice bar or club.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. John’s powers of description had improved greatly over his years of writing the blog – or perhaps it was the subject matter. He could see in his mind’s eye the dimly lit room, the velvet and leather furniture, the other club members wandering around, drinks in hand. “You said – a dance floor?”

“Yes, my love. I know you want to dance. It’s club music, that stuff you hate, but it has a strong beat that lures us in.” John moved against Sherlock, rocking back and forth in a way that suggested both dancing and intimacy and promise. “People are noticing you, checking you out, looking you up and down, noticing the wristband. Several men start drifting towards the dance floor.” John paused in his description, but did not stop moving. “This still okay, Sherlock?”

“Oh yes,” Sherlock breathed. He slung his arms around John’s shoulders, displaying his imaginary wristband.

“Okay,” John said. “One of the men comes up to us and whispers, ‘May I?’”

Sherlock nodded slowly, his eyes still closed.

“He puts his arms around your waist and presses up behind you, swaying with us as we dance.” John pressed his hands and arms up against Sherlock’s back, mimicking the pressure of another body.  “He’s your height, and he aligns his hips against yours. You feel him getting hard.”

Sherlock felt John’s own hardness against his thigh, and he tilted his hips into John, pushing his growing erection into the softness of John’s belly.

“You can hear other men around us, whispering about you, how beautiful you are. Hands come from all around you, petting you, stroking you, touching your hair. One man sucks your fingers into his mouth.” For a moment, Sherlock’s fingertips dipped into the wet warm of John’s mouth. Sherlock’s head fell back and he groaned softly.

“Do you want to lie down, love?”

“Mmm. Yes.”

“All right. Keep your eyes closed. The men are murmuring into your ear about how much they want to touch you, how much they want to fuck you. They look to me, and I nod, and we all walk together to the back room.”

“How many, John?”

John hesitated, as if momentarily doubting himself and his fantasy. “Five. Okay?”

Sherlock’s cock pulsed. “Yeah. Yes, John. Yes.”

John carefully guided him over to their bed. “There’s a massive bed in the back room, bigger than a king size. Sit down, love.” Sherlock sat, eyes still shut. He felt John kneel at his feet and begin to unlace his shoes. “The men swarm around you, sliding their hands under your clothes, running their fingers through your hair, kissing your neck.” John pulled Sherlock’s shoes from his feet, then his socks. “One of them pulls off your jacket, two of them start unbuttoning your shirt; the others run their hands along your legs.”

As John pulled Sherlock’s jacket off, and then his shirt, Sherlock’s heightened senses translated John’s hands into many hands, falling deeper into John’s description. He was drowning in sensation, in sensuality.

“As more of your skin is revealed, they touch and kiss and lick your body.” John kissed Sherlock’s chest; wet, open-mouthed kisses, while running his hands up and down, from Sherlock’s shoulders to flanks. “Five pairs of hands touching you, all over.”

“Where are you?” Sherlock groaned.

“I’m standing just a few steps away, watching. I’ll stay in your sight the whole time, okay?”

He could clearly imagine John standing there, his arms crossed, perhaps leaning against a wall or a pillar, with a look that was both bemused and affectionate. “Okay.”

John’s fingertips ran ticklingly across Sherlock’s belly, at his trouser waistband. He nodded to John, and John undid Sherlock’s flies. Painfully slowly and patiently, he pulled Sherlock’s trousers and pants off, leaving him naked and exposed on the bed.

“God, every time I see you I can’t breathe for a moment,” John said. “So beautiful.”

“John…” Sherlock realized he was whinging but he didn’t care. His cock arched up and slapped his belly with impatience.

“All the men start touching you, stroking your legs, your arms, your chest.” John’s hands ran lightly up and down Sherlock’s body, and God, it did feel like several pairs of hands at once. “Two men start sucking at your nipples, another lies down between your legs and licks at your bollocks and perineum. All of them working together to heighten your excitement, make you harder.”

“Well, it’s working,” Sherlock gasped.

“Good,” John crooned. Sherlock could hear John moving on the bed but he didn’t open his eyes. “The other two men are naked as well, and have their cocks in their hands, rubbing. One of them comes over to you, lifts your head, and slides his cock into your mouth.”

John’s hand supported the back of Sherlock’s head, lifting it slightly. Then Sherlock was startled to feel something solid brushing his lips. He could smell latex, and the slight scent of silicone. A dildo, then, with a condom. Once again, he marvelled at John’s cleverness. If such circumstances were real, John would have insisted on condoms for all participants; putting a condom on the dildo completed the realistic sensual experience for Sherlock. He smiled slightly, then cupped his tongue around the dildo and sucked it further into his mouth.

“Good boy,” John said, pinching at his nipples. “He loves your mouth, his eyes are rolling up into the back of his head.” The dildo pumped in and out of Sherlock’s mouth. It was slim and solid, and Sherlock hoped that –

“He’s going to fuck you,” John said. “That man you’re blowing now is going to fuck you. He tells the other men to get you ready for his cock.”

Sherlock groaned and nodded frantically around the dildo. Immediately he heard the click of the lube being opened and the squirt of the slippery gel. He planted his feet and let his knees fall apart, opening himself up for John, for whatever he planned.

A finger, slippery with lube, traced around the perimeter of his hole, and Sherlock sighed with the anticipation of relief. Delicate at first, John’s finger breached him; then pushed in with greater insistency. John’s finger slid back and forth, gradually increasing in speed, heightening Sherlock’s pleasure and relaxing the tight muscles. It was glorious, and then it wasn’t enough.

Sherlock made a sound that he hoped sounded like ‘More’, and thankfully John understood. “Hold onto that cock in your mouth,” he said.

Sherlock took it, momentarily afraid that the touch of the dildo would ruin the illusion. Instead he found that the dildo had a realistic heft to it, unlike the other toys they had used in the past.  _ He must have bought a new one _ , Sherlock thought, then dismissed that distracting line of contemplation when a second finger breached him. He sighed, momentarily allowing the dildo in his mouth to fall loose as he realized that John was using the index finger of each of his hands to open Sherlock up. It increased the simulation of more than one person at work on his body.

“Keep sucking that cock,” John said warningly. “Get him ready to fuck you.”

Sherlock renewed his efforts with vigour. He slurped and hummed around the dildo as the slight pain of the stretch morphed and transmogrified into pleasure.

“That’s enough,” John said after an eternity that was probably only a couple of minutes. The dildo was pulled swiftly from Sherlock’s mouth as he whined. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Sherlock scrambled to comply. John rained kisses on his back and arse, murmuring, “That’s it, that’s it, beautiful,” and then pushed the dildo into him, swiftly and firm. Sherlock’s head arched back as he gave a thin cry. The dildo was thinner but longer than John’s cock, and after only a brief moment to allow Sherlock to adjust, John began a slow and steady pumping with it.

“Does it feel good?” John said, and Sherlock could tell from the husky tone in his voice that John’s desire was escalating as well. “Is he fucking you well?”

“Yes,” Sherlock panted.

“Don’t forget the others.”

Then Sherlock felt another touch at his lips, and opened wide instinctively as another dildo filled his mouth. This one was fatter, and his lips could feel the ridge of realistic veins running down its length.

“This is called being spitroasted,” John said. “One man fucking your hole, another fucking your mouth. The man fucking your hole will go until he comes up your arse, and then the man fucking your mouth will take his turn in your arse.”

Sherlock’s skin felt like electric current was running along its surface, and his cock was hard and dripping. He had never felt so turned on in his life.

“God, you look hot as hell,” John said. The dildo fucking him picked up speed, pushed in hard, and then slid out. “He just came,” John said, and swiftly pulled the veined dildo from his mouth and then straight into Sherlock’s twitching hole. After only a brief moment there was another dildo in his mouth, this one long with a slight bend at the tip that brushed against Sherlock’s soft palate, making him choke.

“All right?”

Sherlock nodded and hummed, pushing down his gag reflex. He straightened his back, imagining the two cocks parallel, pointing directly to each other through his body. He found himself pushing back into the dildo in his arse, then pushing forward to take more of the second dildo into his mouth. The dildo in his mouth tickled his throat with every push, and Sherlock realized that when that dildo moved from his mouth to his arse, the curve was angled in such a way to stimulate his prostate. He groaned at the thought, and his arse flexed.

John clearly felt his reaction and hummed with satisfaction. “He likes that, when you clench like that. He’s going to come if you keep doing that.”

So Sherlock clenched again, and again, and John fucked him faster with the dildo, then pulled it out so quickly it made Sherlock gasp around the dildo.

“He wants to come on your back, on your arse – his come is sliding down the curve of your arse,” John said, and Sherlock could almost feel it, the warm slow drip of semen on his skin. Next, he knew, next the dildo in his mouth would switch to his arse, and he wanted it, he wanted –

As the dildo slid slowly from his mouth, he let his tongue linger over its surface, circling its tip as it passed his lips. Just as slowly, it pushed into his arse and immediately brushed his prostate. He shuddered, and his cock throbbed.

“Please,” Sherlock said. His bollocks were aching, his cock dripping. “Please touch me.”

“They’re all touching you,” John said. “All of them, even the ones who have come already. They’re stroking your thighs, rubbing your back and belly, pinching your nipples, pulling your arse cheeks apart so everyone can see you getting fucked.”

“Touch my cock, please, please,” Sherlock whined, not caring that he was whining.

John leaned in close to Sherlock’s ear. Even with his eyes still shut, Sherlock’s over-sensitized skin could feel John’s hot breath stir his hair. “No,” John growled. “They’re not going to touch your cock. Only I get to touch your cock. Only after you’ve fucked all these men, after they’ve all taken their pleasure from you, I’ll fuck you, and only then I’ll touch your cock.”

For a brief moment Sherlock thought he was going to come, just from John’s words. He breathed deeply, and concentrated on pushing the rising tide within him back down. When he felt himself under control again, he pushed back on the dildo, feeling pressure on his prostate, then opened his mouth wide in invitation.

“Good boy,” John murmured, and another dildo pushed into his mouth.

But this new dildo was huge, perhaps nine inches in diameter. Sherlock felt his jaw stretch to accommodate it, felt himself drooling uncontrollably around it.

“Big, isn’t he,” John said. “Can’t wait to see him fuck you. Can’t wait to see your arsehole stretch around that huge cock.”

Sherlock was drowning in sensation, his skin alight, every hair on his body standing on end. He imagined his body, luminescent in the darkened club, shining through the crowd of men surrounding him. He imagined John standing at the edge of the crowd, nude, his beautiful compact muscled body partly in shadow. He could see John’s hand moving over the length of his own cock as he watched Sherlock being fucked by multiple men, touched by many pairs of hands. 

The dildo in his arse gave his prostate one more teasing press, then it and the dildo in his mouth pulled out at the same time, making him gasp.

“Ready, Sherlock?” John said, and Sherlock could hear thick desire in his voice.

“Yes, please yes yes,” Sherlock panted.

Then the huge dildo was nudging at his hole, and pushing past the ring of muscle. At first Sherlock thought, ‘I can’t’, and then the huge thing was inside. Sherlock’s head arched back, his spine curving deeper to accommodate the dildo. His eyes rolled back.

“Christ, Sherlock,” John choked. “Christ. That is – you okay? Because-”

“Yeah.” Sherlock felt as though he was speaking through fog, a fog of sensuality and electric stimulation. “Just – slowly – for now.”

“Christ.”

The dildo glided in and out, going a little deeper every time, and Sherlock felt his muscles easing. He eased his torso down, leaning on his elbows and burying his face into a pillow. The change of position deepened the angle of the dildo, and he shuddered. John’s hand stroked his back, and his skin translated the sensation into multiple hands: some petting, some scratching; some gentle, some firm.

He felt tension growing in the pit of his belly, in his groin, in his sacrum, growing into heat. The fog cleared, and Sherlock knew what he needed.

“John!” Sherlock’s voice cracked around the edges. “John, please, you now, you, you, you.”

Immediately the dildo was pulled from him – slowly, but Sherlock still gasped. “Lie on your back, love.”

Sherlock flipped over quickly, keeping his eyes pinched closed. He stretched out on his back, grateful that the movement had pushed back his orgasm slightly, and pulled his knees back.

“John, pl-”

Then John’s weight was on him, and John’s cock pushed into him, and John’s breath broke over his face. “God, Sherlock, you’re so open, so soft, God-” He began to thrust - hard, fast, perfect.

Sherlock opened his eyes. The sex club disappeared, the huge bed, the men, all disappeared, and all Sherlock could see – all he wanted to see – was John.

“You. Only you,” Sherlock said, and he was coming, calling out John’s name as come shot out of him, over his chest and belly. As if from a distance, he heard John’s inarticulate cry, and felt John’s cock throb inside him.

After what felt like an eternity, John collapsed into Sherlock’s arms, smearing the stickiness between their chests. They panted hard together for a moment, as though they had been holding their breath and could only now breathe from each other.

When Sherlock finally remembered how to inhale on his own, he said, “John, that was – fucking phenomenal.”

John pulled back and looked at him carefully. “Yeah? Not too much?”

“No. It was perfect. You’re perfect.”

“You’re amazing. That was incredibly hot.”

“Mmm.”

John kissed Sherlock, deeply, then reached over to the bedside table. He grabbed a damp flannel and gently, with a smile, began to clean Sherlock’s skin.

“You came fully prepared, didn’t you?” Sherlock said. He realized he was nearly purring like a cat but couldn’t be arsed to care.

“I did.”

Sherlock weakly raised his head and looked down the bed. The five dildos, still with condoms on and sticky with lube, were littered across the covers. “These were all new?”

“Once I had the idea, I went a little crazy, I admit.”

“What would you have done if I’d said no?”

John looked at him, suddenly serious. “Then I wouldn’t have done it.”

Sherlock smiled at him, and wondered yet again at the miracle of this man, this John Watson, who loved him so. “But I did say yes. And you did do it.”

“Yes you did, and yes I did, and it was fantastic. Thank you.”

“Thank  _ you _ .” Sherlock lazily grabbed at one of the dildos, turning it around in his hands. “From that store in Soho?”

“Yup.” John picked up another dildo and considered it. “Should we name them?”

“Nope. They’re all named John.”

_ End _

  
  



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